


Hands On

by CatiDono



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Dean Hallucinates, Hallucinations, Hurt Dean Winchester, Leviathan being dicks, M/M, Mild Gore, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Monster Dean, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Sam Hallucinates, bobby is pretty much the only one who doesn't hallucinate to be honest, but not Dick, like everything else I write, not a happy fic, not real slashy btw, possibly people will die i don't know yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatiDono/pseuds/CatiDono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Leviathan have Castiel, and they want to make sure Dean doesn't forget it.  So when they find out about the brand the angel left on him, they can't help but play with it a little... [fic based on fanart, link & details inside]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Fret Precious, I'm Here

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot based off of a "prompt" at http://angeldicks.tumblr.com/post/34158478133/, but it didn't stop flowing and I couldn't help but make it go on and on. No idea where it will end now, probably in death or maybe cannibalism. Who even knows! This is a transfer fic from my ff.net account, and it started when s7 was still airing, so if anything I say doesn't fit current canon, that'll be why.
> 
> This is very AU; here, Cas opens the gates of purgatory and immediately becomes LeviaCas- no Godstiel. He still kills Raphael, runs off Crowley, breaks Sam's wall, etc. But the Leviathan stay inside Cas instead of getting out into the water supply. And they are much more like Misha portrays them, highly unbalanced and deadly, but not particularly clever like Dick Roman (bless his slimy black soul). So yeah. my own brand of LeviaCas. Hope you enjoy!

It starts as an itch. Dean absentmindedly scratches his shoulder as he sorts through another stack of books in Bobby's angel-proofed study. It's been almost a week now, six and a half days to be exact. Six and a half days of endless searching for answers, six and a half days of regular checks to make sure Sam hasn't dropped back into another Hell-induced coma, six and a half days of looking nervously over their shoulders in case the monsters in Castiel's skin find a way in. It's been, Dean thinks dryly, Hell.

It's also been quiet since the Leviathan slithered away in Cas' skin, and Dean doesn't know what that means. The massacres that they had been expecting never came, although they have no idea if it's because the Leviathan don't have access to Cas' angel mojo or because they aren't interested in pointless slaughter (yet). In fact, apart from Sam's not-so-slow descent into insanity and Dean's cracked ribs from being tossed into that wall, it would be easy to believe that nothing has gone wrong, that the sigils and symbols painted around the house are there for decoration. But Dean knows that would be lying to himself.

Even Winchester stubbornness can only do so much against exhaustion though, and after another hour Dean finds the letters on the page beginning to swim before his eyes. Dean pushes himself to his feet, deciding that more beer is the solution, and that's when the itch deepens to a slow ache, like a bone deep sunburn.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, rubbing at his arm. Sam looks up from his nest on the couch, frowning.

"Problem, Dean?" he asks carefully, narrowing his eyes in a focused squint that Dean knows only started after his wall broke. Briefly Dean wonders what his brother sees in the space between them that he needs to squint around, what horrors his imagination is dredging out of the cage to throw between Sam and reality. The pain in his shoulder intensifies, distracting him, and Dean swears again.

"It's my arm," he grits out, kneading the muscles of his shoulder even though it's making the pain worse. "Hurts like a bitch, feels like I burned it on something." Sam's frown morphs into his full-blown worry face, and he unfolds himself from the sofa to loom at Dean's side.

"Isn't that where-" he asks hesitantly, but stops himself.

"Spit it out Sammy, you spill your kiddy chem set on my clothes or something?"

Irritated, Dean tears the sleeve of his shirt up to examine the skin below at the same time that Sam quietly finishes "-where Cas grabbed you?"

Both hunters fall silent, staring wordlessly at Dean's upper arm. Bobby walks through the door, laden with groceries and a sawed-off shotgun, and pauses to look at them.

"The hell you boys starin' at?" The old hunter asks gruffly. Dean wordlessly shifts so that Bobby can see the handprint scar slowly developing on his flesh, like a Polaroid in skin and muscle. It's a scar that Dean hasn't worn in over a year. "What in god's name is that?" Bobby demands, leaving his forgotten food in the doorway and striding over to them. "Does it hurt?"

"Like a bitch," Dean repeats, a glimmer of hope swelling in his chest as the raised outlines of Cas' fingers become apparent once more. "Do you think..." he swallows, glances at his brother, then continues."Do you think it's Cas? It's gotta be. Maybe he's trying to tell us something, give us a sign that he's still in there somewhere. Maybe he's fighting back, or- godDAMMIT!" A spike of pain lances through him, agony so intense that Dean swears his heart stuttered for a few beats, and he reflexively curls in on himself, closing his eyes and clasping his hand over the scar. He's still seeing spots from the pain, and it takes him a moment to realize that the wound is sticky.

"Goddammit," he whispers again, panting. "that hurts. Am I bleeding?"

"Not- not exactly, Dean." Sam's voice is shaky like it was the first days after he put himself back together, and Dean looks up in alarm. His brother and Bobby are wearing almost identical expressions of horrified revulsion, and so even though he doesn't want to Dean tilts his head to the left. To the trickles of thick black ooze seeping between his fingers.

"Holy shit." Dean's vision tunnels, and only the fact that Dean Winchester does not simply faint keeps him from passing out right there. His chest is tight and it feels like there's not enough air as he stands paralyzed for a moment before elbowing Bobby out of the way in an uncoordinated stumble to the kitchen. Dean shoves his entire arm in the sink and turns on the water, not caring that it's almost scalding hot, focused only on getting the fluid off of him. He scrubs at his arm like he's trying to peel the skin right off, and globs of dark slime drop into the sink like gorged leeches.

Still the stuff bubbles forth, and Dean doesn't have any idea where it could possibly be coming from. The tissues of the mark are putrefying, turning black and dead, and Dean keeps up a steady mantra of "shit, dammit, shit, fuck, fuck!" as he tries to staunch the flow of black from Cas' mark. It takes several minutes, but eventually the streamers of sludge thin to dribbles, and then to drops, but they never stop completely. As Dean slams the tap off and turns away, a single trickle of black weeps from the palm of the scar like a mocking tear. Sam and Bobby are standing in the doorway behind Dean, wide-eyed. Bobby's mouth is working like he wants to say something but doesn't know what. Sam has his hands out in front of him in a calming, placating gesture because he knows Dean, can follow the swing of his brother's moods, and is waiting nervously for the anger that must follow on the heels of the fear.

Dean does not disappoint. Slowly his hands curl into fists, tightening until the knuckles crack and show white through the skin. Dean's jaw clenches until his face looks like some sort of pained mask and the treacherous drip of the black liquid winds its way over the tense lines of his muscles. When it hits the sensitive skin of his wrist Dean snaps, and before Sam can even finish his warning "Dean, no!" the elder Winchester is past him and out the front door, paying no mind to the protected threshold he crosses.

"What the hell is this?" Dean stands in the open yard and roars at the sky in a broken, deadly voice that Sam has never heard him use before. A voice that no one outside of the fire and chains has heard in over ten years. It's the way Dean screams when he is shattered beyond repair. "Is this some kind of sick game you son of a bitch? I'll kill you right now, come here and face me you bastard!"

Dean is still screaming when Sam grabs him, spins him around, and slaps him. The blow silences Dean, but Sam can see the furious, lost expression in his brother's face.

"Dean, listen to me, we've got to get inside, we can't fight those things, we aren't ready. Come on." He tries to tug his brother towards the relative safety of the open door, where Bobby stands casting nervous glances at the sky, but Dean doesn't move. He mumbles something, and Sam has to lean in to catch it.

"I can't let them do this Sammy. They can't do this to me, they can't do this to Cas. They're in me, like they're in him and I can't just ignore it. I can't Sammy they've got Cas. What did they do to Cas to make this happen Sammy, what could they have done?" Dean keeps muttering, repeating himself, but he doesn't seem to realize it. Sam looks over Dean's head to Bobby, and at a nod from the old hunter he delivers a short hard punch to Dean's jaw. Catching his unconscious brother before he can faceplant in the dirt, Sam cradles him in his arms and hurries back into the house, as a storm rumbles in the distance.

 

When Dean wakes up he is in a depressingly familiar room. Although he knows what will happen, he tries to sit up anyway, wincing as the carefully padded handcuffs on his limbs keep him pinned. Overhead the fan whirls hypnotically behind it's devil's trap grating. Dean closes his eyes and the flickers of sunlight make little black and red lines dance behind his eyes. It's a nauseating reminder of his scar, so he opens them again. His head is not strapped down at least, and when he turns it he can see a fresh bandage wrapped around his bicep, hiding the cancerous print from view. When he looks the other way he can see Sam and Bobby, once more watching him from the doorway with concern in their eyes.

"Dean?" his brother asks hesitantly, and Dean knows he is both afraid for Dean and of him. A flash of his temporary insanity comes back to Dean and he groans, instinctively trying to cover his face with his hands before remembering the restraints.

"Well that was stupid of me," Dean admits, a little ashamed. His feelings have not changed, but now that reason has restored itself he sees no reason to drag Sam and Bobby down with him.

Sam visibly relaxes at Dean's demonstration of logic, but Bobby just snorts. "Gee, do ya think idjit?" he responds, voice heavy with sarcasm and worry. "If those things didn't know where we were before they sure as hell do now. And we still don't know how to do a damn thing to them." Dean drops his gaze, unable to meet the old man's eyes. "Idjit," he hears the hunter snort once more. "I'm gonna go check the damn angel-proofing." There is the sound of Bobby's boots clumping up the stairs, then silence. Dean knows Sam is still watching him.

"So," he starts, still not looking at his brother. "I assume I'm in the panic room to keep Cas- the things inside Cas" he hastily corrected himself, "away from me." Sam nods. "And the handcuffs are for...?"

"Keeping you from hurting yourself." Sam's serious expression does not change at Dean's disbelieving bark of laughter. "Dean, you have black goo leaking out of that scar. You completely lost your mind and ran into the yard screaming bloody murder. Now look me in the eye and tell me that if I let you go your first move wouldn't be to try and cut it off, or cauterize it, or somehow hurt yourself?" Dean kept his eyes fixed on the lazy twirl of the fan, but didn't respond. "That's what I thought."

"So what, you're just gonna leave me here?" Dean asks, even though he knows the answer. They are locking him up as much for their own safety as his, and Dean knows it. He's been marked by the Leviathan somehow, from afar, and they don't know what else the monsters might be able to do to him. Or make him do. It's a race to see if Dean will crack before Sam and Bobby can find a way to destroy the Leviathan. A game the hunters have already lost, but Sam doesn't need to know that.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I wish we didn't have to do this." The sincerity in Sam's voice does nothing to make Dean feel better. Dean doesn't respond, just turns his head and closes his eyes and waits for the sound of the heavy door swinging shut. He doesn't bother to open his eyes again when he hears it close, because what's the point? There's nothing to see. For the first time since Cas opened purgatory, Dean wishes he could pray.


	2. (Step Away From the Window and) Go Back to Sleep

The handprint is itching again, and Dean rubs his shoulder against the cot as well as he can to try and scratch it, but all he succeeds in doing is unraveling the bandage and peeling it off, letting it crumple to the floor in a mess of black and white. Dean takes a moment to chide Sammy in his head- the man should know how to tie a knot better than that. Now that the mark is exposed, Dean finds that he can't look away. He watches the constant movement of the black liquid dripping from the wound and feels sick but he keeps staring. Again he wonders what the hell it means for him, for Cas. If this means the monsters are somehow in him too.

"YeS, dEaN." The hunter looks up at the sound of the voice, the one voice that sounds like hundreds, and sees Castiel standing a few feet away. What's left of Castiel at least. The trenchcoat is torn and covered in rivulets of blood and Leviathan ooze, and so is the man wearing it. Dean opens his mouth to scream, but the Leviathan flicker like an old TV image, and Dean stops himself.

"You're not here," he denies flatly, shaking his head. "I'm hallucinating."

"YeS aND yES anD NO DeAN." The creatures' head flops to the side as if something has snapped their spine, and they stare hungrily at Dean through blue eyes clouded over black. "wE aRe nOT HEre-" One hand waves at the floor, then reaches up to touch their gore-stained temple. "bUt We ArE hERe."

Dean wrestles down the shivering that threatens to overtake him at those words, wondering if he should call for help anyway. "What the hell does that mean? What are you doing to me? What have you done to Cas, leave him alone you bastards!" He jerks ineffectually at the chains on his wrists, wishing he could get up and strangle the apparition wearing his friend's face.

"sHhHh, dEaN." The Leviathan flicker again and reappear next to the cot, reaching out to rest their fingers against Dean's brow. the touch is cold and rubbery, like a drowned corpse, and Dean jerks his face away. "tHe BirDIe iS STilL fLaPPinG aRouNd inSidE uS. WE woUlD lET iT tALk, buT It sINgS suCh a SAd SonG. NoT fOR lOnG THouGh." The Leviathan giggle, a sound like claws on slate, and drop bonelessly into a crouch by Dean's side. He tells himself again that it's all in his head, but that doesn't stop the bile from rising in his throat as they trace their fingers over Castiel's mark.

"tHe BirDIe Is uSEd tO ThE LIgHt, buT wE WilL tEAcH iT to LoVe thE DaRK," they croon, almost to themselves, as they trace delicate patterns on Dean's skin in their thick ink. "aNd YOu BeLOng tO tHe BIrdiE. YoU ARe Its HumAN." The word rolls of their tongue with an air of curiosity. "sO WhEn thE biRDiE iS oURs, yOU wILl bE oUr HuMAn." There is a sense of irrevocability to the words, a feeling of something shifting deep inside Dean that makes him gag, choking on his own terror.

They see his distress and lean in towards Dean with a smile that literally splits their face in half, black blood oozing from the corners of the too-wide mouth. "wE'Ve nEVeR hAD a PeT hUmaN bEfoRE. Won'T tHAt Be fuN deAN?" Helpless, Dean can't do a thing as they swipe a trickle of slime from their cheek with a thumb and wipe it across Dean's face in mockery of their own grin.

"sInG fOR Us dEAn. LiKE thE bIRDie."

 

Sam barely recognizes the sound coming from the basement as Dean. He charges down and glances through the peephole, but there's nothing there but Dean. Dean, who is thrashing wildly and screaming so loud that Bobby hears him out in the yard.

"What in god's name is goin' on in there?" Bobby demands, crashing down the steps behind Sam. Sam doesn't answer, tearing furiously at the locks until he can throw open the door and run to Dean's side. Dean's eyes are closed tightly, but the instant Sam touches him they spring open, darting wildly around the room.

"Dean!" Sam yells, shaking his brother until Dean's eyes finally focus on him. "Dean, it's alright, you're safe, it was just a dream." It takes Dean a moment to realize that the awful keening is coming from him, and another to consciously make it stop. His whole body is bathed in sweat, like he's been running a marathon. Sam puts a hand to his brother's forehead and Dean flinches away, but not before Sam registers the fever heat of the skin.

"M'fine, Sam," Dean mutters, but now he won't meet the other man's gaze at all, watching everything but the face in front of him.

"Like hell you are," Sam retorts. Glancing around to Bobby, Sam continues, "I was gone for less than ten minutes, but he's got a massive fever that came out of nowhere and-" Sam drops his voice to a whisper that Dean hears anyway- "his arm looks worse."

Now that Sam has mentioned it, Dean can feel the Leviathan slime drying on his skin and it makes him shudder. He looks over, to see if there really are little whorls and twists drawn onto his skin by stolen fingers, but Bobby is already there and wrapping fresh bandages around the mark. He can't hide the puddle of the stuff on the floor though, and Dean stares down at it until Sam gives his shoulders another firm shake.

"Dean. look at me. Don't look over there, come on, focus. Look in my eyes okay? Nowhere else." Normally Dean would get annoyed with Sam for using his "psychiatrist" voice, but he's too shaken up at the moment. He wrenches his gaze back to Sam's worried face. "What happened, Dean? can you remember what you were dreaming about?

_Can I remember?_  Dean wants to laugh but is afraid it will turn to tears partway through. "I wasn't dreaming." He wishes that his voice would stop trembling, that his body would stop trying to shake itself to pieces. Every time Dean thinks he has a handle on himself, the Leviathan's sneer flashes behind his eyes, and he feels himself slipping a little further into mindless hysteria instead. It takes an immense effort of will to keep his attention fixed on Sam, who is frowning now.

"Dean, come on man, don't pull this crap with me. Was it Cas?"

"NO!" Dean's sudden vehemence startles both men as he reflexively arches off the bed towards Sam. "it wasn't Cas, they were lying. It isn't Cas, it'll never be Cas." Dean starts hyperventilating, pupils dilated so huge that his irises are almost blacked out.

"Son, you have to tell us what's happening." Bobby keeps his voice soft and soothing, but Dean still twitches and twists towards him like a frightened animal. "We're tryin' to help, Dean, but we need to figure out what's goin' on first."

For a moment Dean isn't sure he can speak at all. His heart is fluttering against his ribs ~ _lIkE a lITtlE bIRdiE~_  and his skin feels too hot and tight, except for the icy handprint. Still he forces words out, hoping they'll be coherent enough.

"It was the Leviathan. they were here-" Sam tenses and Dean shakes his head impatiently, words tumbling out of his mouth on a tide of rising panic. "Not here, here in my head. They're in my head and it wasn't a dream it was something to do with Cas. They're in my  _head_  Sam, get them out, please, make them leave me alone, get them out of me!" Dean's burst of coherency ebbs, and he begins to writhe on the cot, tugging at the cuffs and trying to tear the bandage off his arm with his teeth, the metal bed frame, anything he can. When that fails he starts slamming his left shoulder into the side of the cot again and again, face frozen in a snarl, eyes wide and unseeing.

"Hold him Sam!" Bobby yells, racing from the room. Sam can do little but throw himself over his brother, pinning him with difficulty. Nothing Sam says is having any effect on Dean, who seems to be having some sort of combined seizure and mental break. He continues to struggle until Bobby returns with a hypodermic needle and jabs it into his leg. Dean's eyes flutter, muscles slowly and unwillingly relaxing as they succumb to the drug until he is once more lying inert on the bed. Sam leans back slowly, afraid that the shot is only temporary, that any moment Dean will return to his self-destructive madness.

"That was heavy-duty anesthetic, son," Bobby reassures him. "He'll be out for another five hours at least."

Sam nods and stands shakily, running his hands through his hair. For an instant the world around him slants, and he hears the roar of flames, sees bright flashes of white and yellow that threaten to pull him under, but he fights the hallucination off. Dean needs him, and Sam can't afford to check out now. No matter how many triggers Dean's behavior is setting off.

"What's happening to him, Bobby?" Sam whispers as the old man hands him a cloth and bucket to clean the floor with. Lying there on the cot, Dean looks dead except for his slow breathing and the small but growing stain on his bandages.

"I don't know son, but I intend to find out. We know it has to do with that angel of his and the scar, so I guess we just go back to searching." Bobby rests a hand on Sam's shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze before letting go "We'll figure this out Sam. We've handled worse."

As Sam finishes cleaning and follows Bobby out of the room, he isn't sure he agrees. If Sam glances back at his brother, he can see the way Dean's brow furrows slightly, a tic in his cheek beginning to jump regardless of the tranquilizer. But he doesn't look back, and the door to the panic room clamps shut behind them like a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that Leviathan talk weird, and also have some plurality issues? I saw the taLkINg on an RP blog once and kind of fell in love with it. Sorry not sorry. As for the descriptions, i hope it's not too confusing. There's thousands of them and just one at the same time, if that makes any sense, and it's hard to write for.


	3. Safe From Pain, and Truth, and Choice

Dean's dreams are no better than his waking nightmares. He dreams that Cas is standing in front of him with a gentle smile, but when Dean's lips curl in response both of their faces split into identical Cheshire cat Leviathan grins. Dean is wading through a dark ocean of death and forgotten things, while Cas watches from just ahead of him, always just ahead, and Sam and Bobby drown behind. Once, Dean breaks free of the dreams for a moment, only to see the real Leviathan leering down at him from Cas's face. The sight is almost enough to shake him out of sleep, tranquilizers aside, but with a horrible chuckle they fade into the darkness and leave him alone again.

 

Despite Bobby's reassurances, Sam can't stay focused up in the study. Finally he takes three of the more promising books and a chair and sets himself up at the desk in the corner of the panic room. Dean is twitching in his sleep, and every now and again he moans. It isn't the best environment for working, but Sam can't bear to be anywhere else. Eventually, he gives up on reading entirely and just sits there, watching his brother. Dean is literally dripping with sweat, even though it's cool in the room, and his bandage has slipped to allow the Leviathan slime to ooze onto the floor again. Sam gets a cloth and fresh bandages, cleans up the mess, and wipes Dean's face down. The touch of the washcloth seems to soothe Dean, and he settles into a more restful sleep. This time, Sam manages to work his way through most of the first book before Dean's whimpers pull him to his brother's side again. He's just gotten Dean to quiet down when Bobby comes to the door, face grim.

"We've got a problem, Sam." Bobby's words make Sam's heart leap at the thought that he has answers, then plummet at his tone.

"You found something? A cure?"

"Not exactly. You'd better come back upstairs. Dean'll be fine by himself for five minutes." Bobby refuses to say another word until the panic room is closed behind them and they are safely in the kitchen.

"I found a passage in this-" Bobby thumps the cover of a decrepit-looking leather-bound volume titled in what looks like ancient Greek. "-that talks about soul claims."

"What, like demon deals?"

"Partially yes. It says here that when a soul that's made a deal gets dragged to Hell, their contract automatically shifts to the king of Hell."

"Yeah, we knew that already." Sam has difficulty keeping the irritation out of his voice, and Bobby scowls at him.

"I'm gettin' there boy! It also says that if a soul is freed from Hell, then its contract will pass to its savior." Bobby raises his eyes to meet Sam's disbelieving gaze.

""Wait, so you're saying that Cas owns Dean's soul now? How does that even work? Wouldn't one of them have said something?"

"Sam, I don't know if the damn angel even realized it would happen. It ain't exactly common practice to pull souls from Hell. But it would make sense with what we know. That scar was a sort of unintentional seal on the contract for him. That might be why it never really went away, and why it's actin' up now." Bobby draws in a deep breath and studies his beer morosely.

"What do you mean why-" Sam begins, then stops. Bobby pulls his gaze from his drink to Sam just as all the blood drains from the young hunter's face. "You think it's the Leviathan?"

"This book is beyond vague, Sam. I think it says something about how soul claims switch between people, but it could also be talkin' about some ancient Grecian McDonalds. All I'm saying is, even if Cas knew about this thing, he wouldn't have done anything about it. But then those things moved in." Bobby tips his head back and finishes the beer in one gulp. "I think it's possible that they found whatever this claim is and are gettin' at your brother though it."

Sam sits down just before his legs give out beneath him. Silence fills the room as he opens and closes his mouth, trying to think of something to say. Finally he manages to ask, "So, do the leviathans own his soul now or something? What's that gonna do to him? And does that mean Cas is really gone?"

"I don't know, Sam!" Bobby snaps. "This is the first time I've heard of anything like what's happening to Dean."

The two hunters sit in silence for a few minutes before Sam speaks again. "All right, so what do we know about leviathans?"

"Not a whole lot. The Bible's got jack, except for a few verses in Job that basically tell us how evil the things are. Other theories, and I have no idea if they're accurate, say that there were originally just two of them. Then one of 'em did something God didn't like, and so to punish them God killed one and left the other to rot in purgatory alone.

"So then why are there so many of them? I got the impression from Cas that there were hundreds." Sam's face is pinched with worry and exhaustion, and there's a slight twitch in his left eyelid that Bobby sees but doesn't comment on.

"Keep in mind, Sam, this is just a theory. But I think maybe that one Leviathan went so crazy with loneliness that it started makin' others out of the things it found, turnin' them into extensions of itself like some giant hive mind."

"Making? Making how? Like demons?"

"I don't know, Sam," Bobby repeats, and now he just sounds tired. "These things are so old, and they've been locked up for so long, that there's next to nothin' on them in the whole of human history. We're just flyin' in blind here."

Sam bows his head, sitting motionless for so long that Bobby gets worried.

"What are you thinkin', Sam?" he asks cautiously.

"I'm thinking that we need more information. And there aren't a whole lot of places we can get it." When Sam raises his head, there's a steely determination in his eyes. "But I'm not just gonna sit here and wait for those monsters to kill Dean, or worse." Bobby reads the unspoken intention in Sam's eyes and sighs heavily.

"Boy, I hope you know what you're gettin' yourself into."

 

In the panic room below, Dean's tranquilizers have worn off. A few slow blinks bring him to wakefulness, and he remembers with shame the way he panicked in front of his brother and Bobby. They definitely won't trust him now. The leviathan are nowhere, for once, and Dean lets out a sigh of relief. No hallucinations.

Dean's back itches, and he sits up to scratch it. That's when he realizes that the restraints are gone. Warily, he glances around, but nothing seems out of place. The door to the room is still closed, and no doubt barred. Sam and Bobby must have decided that he's harmless enough to let free, instead of keeping him chained like a rabid dog.

"Sam? You out there?" The air is preternaturally still, and Dean's words seem to flounder and then fall to the ground without carrying. Alert for any sign of danger or foul play, Dean stands and heads towards the doors. He isn't sure where the second one came from, but it doesn't matter much anyway.

For a moment he hesitates, torn. There's the old familiar door, red and rusted and huge, and probably shut and triple barred to keep Dean in. It's a good door though, familiar. Dean knows what he'll find through that door. The other door is something he's never seen before. It's made of smoked glass and twisted blue metal that glints invitingly at him, and it has no handle. The longer Dean stares, the more he hates that door, and the more he wants to go through it. The blue metal calls to him, and the panes darken and seem to swirl in time to Dean's heart, like mud instead of glass.

Dean stands before the two portals and glances between them nervously. He has three options. He can try the door he knows, the one with Sam and Bobby on the other side. It'll be locked, and they probably won't come when he shouts their names, but he can pound on it anyway. The second choice is to go to the terrible, fascinating, black and blue door and fling himself into the abyss beyond. At least that door will open, he's sure of it. Last, and most temptingly, Dean could just walk back over to his bed and lie down on it. Maybe even go back to sleep eventually.

cOMe. Dean takes a step towards the blue metal door before he realizes what's happening. He'd rather take any other option, do anything but walk through into the unknown nothingness that horrifies him.

LOok. As if on a string, Dean's head jerks up and he gazes through the glass that has suddenly become clear in a few places. Clear enough for Dean to see the tiny blue flame dancing on the far side of the door. Cas? Another unwilling step is dragged from him.

hE wANtS yOu To Go tO HiM. That isn't true; Dean can almost hear the little blue angel-flame screaming at him to take the normal door, to go back to sleep, to do anything except come there. And yet... he takes the last few steps and presses his hand to the glass. It's searingly cold, and it yields under his touch. Before Dean knows it, he's in up to his wrist. He can't tell if his fingertips have gone out the far side yet, although they should have. The light on the far side flickers and vanishes.

gOOd BoY. Dean can't speak for some reason, but he shakes his head frantically, trying to reclaim his arm. His fingers have gone numb, and it feels like the door is pulling him through it, into the darkness on the far side. His shoulder aches.

yOu ArE oUrS, dEAn. dO NOt fIGhT uS. Dean brings up his other arm, attempting to brace himself against the metal frame and tug free, but the blue iron bends and snaps and suddenly he's in the door up to both elbows. Someone on the other side of the door laughs.

"Dean?" Salvation. Dean glances over his shoulder to see Sam stepping through the rusty red door, and he wants to sob in relief. He still can't talk, but surely Sam will see him and help him. The things on the other side chuckle again. "You up yet?" Sam asks, and to Dean's amazement he walks right past him. Craning his neck, Dean can see Sam taking a seat next to the bed in the middle of the room.

_No,_  Dean wants to cry.  _I'm not there anymore, I'm over here. Help me, Sam, please!_  There is someone lying on the cot, Dean realizes, but Sam's blocking their face.

"We're figuring this out, Dean. Bobby and I have an idea." When his brother leans to one side, Dean gasps. It's his body lying there, but something is very wrong. Dean's eyes are gone, and it might be his imagination but he thinks he can see all the way to the back of his own skull. The flesh is empty, like an old crab shell or molted snake skin.  _How does Sam not realize that isn't me?_

He iS BLinD. hE cAN't sEe wHAt yoU ReaLlY ArE. While Dean is distracted, the glass draws him in almost to his shoulders. When he turns his head back to face it, Dean's nose is nearly in the smoky sludge. He manages to scream, but there is no bustle of movement behind him. It seems like Sam is deaf as well as blind.

sHhH. jUSt lEt Us hAvE yOU noW. The darkness reaches up and swallows Dean's face, and all at once he is falling through the door and into what feels like icy water.


	4. They Don't Give a Fuck About You--

One minute Dean is drowning in darkness, and the next he's in a horribly familiar space. Dean struggles frantically against his bonds until he hears the scuff of feet behind him. Somehow, he recognizes the sound and freezes in sheer terror as Alistair circles to the front of the rack Dean is strung up on. The master torturer surveys Dean curiously, still wearing the last meat-suit Dean ever saw him in, bloody and raw from Dean's treatment

"Dean-o," he purrs. "So good to see you again."

"This isn't real," Dean manages to choke out. "You're dead; Sam and Cas killed you. What kind of sick game is this?"

Alistair falls silent and examines Dean for a few moments, pinning the hunter beneath his gaze like an insect. Then his lips split into a grin, and split, and split. Dean recoils in horror as Alistair leers at him with a leviathan smile. The demon's eyes roll back into his head, but instead of bone white orbs they are deep, dark wells with  _things_  swimming in them just under the surface. Dean can't breathe; his heart stops beating and he can't convince it to start again. The seconds stretch agonizingly as Alistair's form begins to deteriorate, lesions rising from his skin and erupting to spill dark liquid down his body. Blood and ooze trickle from one eye; in the silence, without even his own pulse to cover it, Dean can hear the faint squelching and tearing of skin. He wishes he would pass out or just die already, but this  _isn't_  real and he can't be so lucky. Finally he manages to draw a shuddering breath, and Leviathan snicker again.

"wE FinD yoUr ReaCtIOn tO Us iN tHIs GuiSE... iNVigoRaTInG," Leviathan hiss, gliding closer to Dean. "ThE bUtChER hAs lEfT THe moST wOnDErfUl IMpreSsIOn oN yoUr SoUL." Alistair—the leviathan— produce something small, round, and luminous from nowhere and begin to roll it between their palms. "SEe?"

Dean can only stare in a mixture of shock, disgust, and rising panic. That's his  _soul_  that Leviathan are idly passing from hand to hand; Dean knows it without a doubt. He can feel his insubstantial consciousness being drawn towards it. Mesmerized, Dean watches it shine, pearlescent hues of glowing white and faint green sweeping across it. Still wearing their horrible smile on Alistair's face, Leviathan hold it closer, and Dean finds himself straining to touch it. Teasingly, Leviathan bring the soul to within inches of Dean's chest, to watch in amusement as he strains to press forward just a little bit more. Finally they draw back, chuckling as Dean lets out an involuntary whimper.

"sHhhH, DEan," they croon. "wE ArE gOInG To gIvE iT BacK tO yOU WhEn We aRE FInIshED. wE jUSt wAnT tO shOw YoU sOMetHiNg fIRsT." They turn their head towards a door that Dean has only just noticed. "lItTLe BirDIe," they call.

Dean didn't think he could get more horrified, but now he discovers that he was wrong. Cas, the real Cas, shuffles slowly into the room, head down and shoulders slumped. His clothing is in even worse shape than it was the last time Dean saw him, and through the torn cloth Dean gets the impression of a body starved far too thin. Something huge and dingy crowds through the doorway behind the angel. Dean gasps in awe because, in this limbo space where Leviathan are keeping him, he can see Cas's wings.

As Cas draws closer, Dean's amazement turns to horror, and he lets out a cry of dismay. The once pristine white feathers are patchy and ruffled, smeared with thick black ooze that must make flying impossible. Many of the feathers have been plucked out, or twisted so hard that the shafts broke the skin, and metallic, slightly inhuman blood seeps into the plumage. Dean's seen enough birds sideswiped by trucks and flapping half-heartedly down the shoulder of the highway to recognize that both of the long bones in the arch of each wing have been snapped and left to heal crooked. He can't see Cas's face, but the tension in his body and his jerky steps tell Dean that the angel is in a massive amount of pain.

Leviathan giggle at the look on Dean's face. "WhaT'S blACk AnD WhiTe And REd aLl oVEr?" they ask playfully, tugging on some of Cas's feathers as the angel draws level so that he stumbles to his knees before them. Dean is in shock, trying to figure out what the hell they've done to Cas, and he doesn't respond. "nO aNSwEr, DEan? FIne, We'Ll TeLL yOu. iT's OUr lItTLe bIRdIe'S pOoR bROkeN WinGs." They tilt their head as they examine the angel. "nOt muCH WHitE LeFT tHouGh. aNd tOo LIttLe rED." Their fingers are suddenly tipped with savage black claws, and they rake them across the arch of one wing. Cas cries out, but doesn't make any move to get away as fresh blood mixed with severed feathers washes over his plumage.

"Get away from him, you bastards!" Dean screams, finally finding his voice. "Don't touch him! Cas!" Leviathan laugh as Cas shakes before them, clearly wanting to raise his head but unable to. "Cas, man, look at me!"

"gO aHEad, BirDIe." Leviathan stroke a hand soothingly over the wing they haven't ripped into yet, and Cas lets out a barely perceptible whimper. "sTAnD uP. YoU CAn LOoK aT oUr hUnTEr. TeLL hIm wHAt wE'vE dONe To yOu; wE WanT tO sEe ThE HOpe SliThER OuT oF hIS EYeS." They watch Dean, waiting for a reaction, but he gives none. Cas is struggling to stand up, and all of Dean's attention is fixed on him.

"Cas?" Dean's voice is a whisper. The angel raises agonized, helpless eyes to Dean's face, and takes one shaky step forward. Quickly, the leviathan settle their foot on the trailing edge of one wing and grind it into the floor. Cas's lips part and a combination of terror and pain crosses his face, but he freezes and stays silent. His gaze, full of shame now, drops away from Dean's and fixes on the floor.

"We SAid lOoK, bIRdiE, NoT toUCh," Leviathan warn. "dEaN ISn't YouRs AnYMorE, hE's OuRs. stAY hEre aND tELl hiM WHat wE dID AnD wHAt We wIlL dO." They remove their boot, and Cas glances up at Dean again, keeping the rest of himself perfectly still. Dean can't stand the defeat in Cas's hopeless gaze; the being before him is an entirely different creature from the confident, brave angel that pulled Dean out of Hell.

"Cas, what are they talking about?" Dean tries to keep eye contact, but Cas seems determined to not meet his gaze. The angel's eyes dart all over Dean's body, the pain etched into his features deepening as he takes in the details of Dean's captivity. "What did they do to you, man?" Despite his best efforts, Dean can't keep the frantic note out of his voice. Cas finally brings his dull blue gaze back to Dean's face.

"What does it look like, Dean?" Cas's voice is rough, as raw and pained as the rest of him. "They broke me. Tore me to pieces. Devoured me by inches and then spit me out so they could do it again. And somewhere in their games—" Cas chokes on the word— "they found out about my claim on your soul."

"They what? Your  _what_?" Dean can't believe what he's hearing; he refuses to understand Cas's words. Leviathan never stop grinning at him from over Cas's shoulder.

"I didn't know about it, Dean, I swear! I would never have—" a hiss from Leviathan makes Cas flinch, clamping his mouth shut. "They want to experiment on you," Cas continues softly, after a glance over his shoulder as if he's asking for permission. "They've never had a human soul to play with before." Dean hangs limply in his restraints, all the fight suddenly draining out of him. This can't be real. There's no way that could happen to Cas. There's no way Cas would let that happen to Dean. And yet, there's Dean's disheveled, shivering angel, clearly not there to save him.

The leviathan glide up beside Cas to stare hungrily at Dean, resting a proprietary hand on the angel's neck. "SuCh A goOD bIrDIe," they praise, and to Dean's horror a small smile twitches at the corner of Cas's mouth. His revulsion must show on his face, because Cas turns away.

"I swear to god I'm going to kill you, you bastards. What the hell did you do to him?" Dean growls, because if there's one thing that can keep him angry instead of scared, it's his family being hurt.

"yOu KNoW whAt We'Ve dONe, dEAn. fRoM whAT tHe BirDIe TolD uS, YOu'Ve pLAyeD lIkE THis tOo. yoU aNd THe bUtChER."

Dean wants to vomit. He knows this game, and he knows how it ends. "You sick sons of bitches! Cas, listen to me, man, I'm gonna get us out of here okay? Sam and Bobby are figuring this out right now. We're gonna help you." Cas doesn't acknowledge Dean, but as the leviathan slip a protective arm around his shoulders, he closes his eyes and doesn't quite lean against them. For a second Dean thinks he's going to pull away entirely, but Leviathan growl and Cas flinches again, cowering at their side with his eyes closed.

"hE dOEsn'T NeEd YoUr HelP, dEaN," Leviathan explain. "pOoR LitTLe gLAsS birD, So FRagIlE. We sHAtTeREd HIm, yES, BuT WheN wE aRE dONe hE wON't eVeR brEAk AGaiN. Won'T ThAT bE niCe, BIrDie?" Cas whimpers softly as their fingers stroke the sensitive base of his wings.

"Cas." Dean feels tears welling up in his eyes and swallows them down. "Dammit. So what, you planning on doing that to me too? Fat chance; you may look like Alistair, but you've got nothing on Hell." Maybe if he makes them angry, they'll kill him quickly and he won't have to see Cas like this anymore. Instead of fury, though, the leviathan's eyes light up with anticipation. Dean swallows nervously.

"hEll. We aRE So gLaD YoU mEntIoNEd iT." Letting go of Cas, the creatures once again produce the ball of light that is Dean's soul, rolling it pensively between their palms. "yOUr brIGhT BRigHt sOuL wAs So brOkEN wHEn YOu GoT oUt. So tORn tO dELiCiOUs lITtlE sHReDs. tHE bIRdIE uSeD SOme oF hIs OWn pREciOus FEatHerS tO StiTcH yOu bACk tOGetHeR aGAiN. LoOk." Again, they hold the orb up to Dean's face, and to the hunter's amazement he can actually see neat, tight little stitches of what he can only assume to be Grace, so pure that they make the rest of his soul seem grey by comparison. Despite the mess they're both trapped in, despite the awful things the leviathan no doubt have planned for him, Dean still finds himself filled with pure wonder.

"Cas, it's beautiful," he whispers, unable to take his eyes off the angel's handiwork. The time it must have taken, the care. The love. Cas shifts nervously but doesn't move from where Leviathan left him. As if sensing Dean's swelling hope, the leviathan snatch the soul away again. Their awful sneer stretches wider, if possible.

"dO YoU REalLy thInK sO, DeaN?" they mock, turning back to Cas. Dean sees the angel start shaking, wings flattening as much as they can against his back and the floor so that he seems to shrink. "TeLL oUr hUNtEr wHaT yOU'rE gOInG tO Do tO hIm, biRDiE." The angel is clearly terrified, but he doesn't say a word. His eyes are fixed on Dean's soul. With a snarl, Leviathan grab Cas by the hair and wrench his head up so that the angel has to look at Dean. "tEll. HiM."

Dean wants to encourage Cas, to tell him not to obey, but he also wants to know what the monsters have planned for him. He stays silent, watching as Cas trembles, blinking rapidly. Finally, he closes his eyes to block out the world and starts to speak. "If I put Dean's soul back together, I can take it apart again." The words are clipped and monotone, as though he's reciting from a script. "Leviathan can't break Dean open without damaging him beyond repair, but I can let them in if I remove my own Grace from the wounds." His glassy blue eyes open again and he stares at Dean. "I'm sorry."

Dean's mind is whirling. What does that mean? Why can't the leviathan just take him apart the way Alistair did? Dean is struck by the horrible thought that they could, but they're too curious and would rather play with him instead. A cat letting a mouse run a few feet before pouncing on it again. But is he safe as long as Cas resists? If that's the case, Dean thinks maybe he's already lost.

"You—you're not really going to let them do this, Cas." Dean's voice is soft, scared. Leviathan are no doubt going to silence him momentarily, but he has to try to get through to the angel.

"I can't stop them, Dean. They're so ancient. So much older than anything I've ever seen. There's nothing I can do." Now Cas is the one who looks like he might cry. One hand twitches, as though he wants to reach out to Dean, but he restrains himself. "Dean, I tried to fight them. They broke my wings. The pain—" Cas's eyes glaze over and he shudders. "You can't imagine."

"But they can't  _make_  you do it." Dean can see Leviathan moving in the corner of his vision, and he hurries to get the words out. "Cas, listen to me. They need you to do this, for whatever reason; they can't do it themselves or you'd be dead already. Don't hurt me, Cas, please." It goes against Dean's nature to beg like this, but he has no other options, and it's  _Cas_. Cas would never break him like that. Cas saved Dean from Hell; he would never throw him back there.

"SHh, DeAN." Something unseen squeezes Dean's throat until he can barely breathe, let alone speak. Leviathan sidle up to him and press a deathly cold finger to his lips. "muSTn'T uPSeT thE BiRdIE."

But Cas is upset, Dean can see it, and so even though he can't talk, he prays.  _Please, Cas. We're trying to save you; I swear I won't leave you here. I know they took your wings, and I'm sorry. But don't let them hurt me too._ Dean's never really gotten over Hell; how can he,when he's been down there longer than he's been up here? The thought of Cas doing anything that might bring those years back is paralyzing. Cas hesitates, his emotional turmoil clear on his face.

"dON't dIsOBey Us bIRdIe," Leviathan hiss, their tone one of dangerous calm. "nExT tIMe wE HavE tO PUniSh yOU, wE wILl tAkE YOur WinGS AlL THe wAY oFf." Cas's face drains of all color, and he draws the appendages even closer to his body, as if that can protect them. "bUt If YoU'Re a gOoD BIrdiE," the monsters add slyly, keeping a close eye on the angel's face, "mAyBE wE WilL fIX yOUr wINgS iNSteAd." Pure longing overtakes the terror on Cas's face, and his feathers betray his interest as they ruffle slightly in anticipation.

_No, Cas. Don't._  Cas meets Dean's gaze for the barest fraction of a second, and then his face settles into a mask that Dean can't read and he holds a hand out to Leviathan.

"Please, Great Ones," Cas murmurs, keeping his eyes averted meekly. "Allow me to assist you." What little air Dean can get starts to come in panicked gasps as Leviathan chuckle. He doesn't have any idea what will happen to him when Cas takes his soul apart again. What if he goes insane? What if he thinks he's back in Hell? What if he reverts back to the monster Alistair made of him? Whatever happens, if the leviathan want it, it's not going to be good.

_Cas!_  The angel doesn't even glance at Dean, keeping his eyes fixed on Leviathan instead. With a pleased purr, the creatures ooze away from Dean's side and up to Cas. They run a hand down his cheek, leaving a fresh streak of black ooze, and whisper something Dean can't hear. A fleeting smile crosses Cas's face, but he glances at Dean again and the pleasure is quickly replaced by shame.

When the leviathan give him Dean's soul, Cas cradles it in his hands for a few seconds, running his fingers lightly over the luminescent scars. Dean's mouth opens in a silent  _oh_  because he can feel that touch in the core of his being. Slightly dazed, he blinks at the angel. So that was what Cas meant by more profound bond. He wonders, with the part of his mind that is somehow still functioning, why he can't feel it when the leviathan have his soul.

The monsters wrap their arms around Cas's chest from behind and stick their face over his shoulder to observe. "SucH a gOoD BIRdIE," they croon, but Cas doesn't smile this time. He's shaking like a sapling in a hurricane, not looking at Dean or the leviathan or anything but the soul in front of him. Undeterred, the leviathan stroke the angel's wings gently, soothingly. "tEaR hIM aPaRT fOr uS. FOr yOuR pREtTy wINgS."

Cas takes a deep breath and tightens his grip, and Dean swears he can feel a corresponding pressure inside himself.

_Cas, please._


	5. —Like I Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, I can't believe I left you with that cliffhanger for five months. I am so sorry.

_Cas, please._

All at once, Cas's wings flare out from his back. Broken or not, they're still impressive, and they knock the leviathan away with a flash of white light. In that tiny span of time, Cas crosses the room and presses a hand to Dean's forehead. Suddenly Dean's bonds are gone, and he is standing upright and free. Leviathan are howling in rage and surprise, but Cas has done something to them that burns, and as far as Dean can tell they haven't recovered yet. Dean himself is so shocked by the turn of events that he can't even process what's happening; he can only stutter in confusion. "Cas? What—"

"This is my domain too, or it used to be. I can control it to some extent, when the Great—" Cas bites down on the words with a snarl— "the monsters' guard is down." He's talking almost too fast for Dean to follow, and there's something like hysteria in his eyes, but he braces his free hand against the wall over Dean's shoulder and raises his wings like a tattered shield between him and the creatures.

Before he does, Dean catches one last glimpse of Leviathan. It looks like Cas dumped acid on them, and what little of Alistair's shape was left is sloughing away to reveal the creatures beneath the skin. A furious, writhing mass of darkness, full of teeth and hidden things that Dean knows would break his mind if he saw them properly.

"WhHAt AaRe YOu DoInNG, bIRdIEe?" The words are only barely coherent, howled from a thousand rotting throats as Leviathan collects itself and seethes across the room towards them. "nNOt YOurSsS! gIveE iT bAaCK tO uSSs!" Dean wants to cover his ears at the sound, but he knows it won't help. Cas cringes, eyes darting around in blind panic for a moment before settling on Dean's face again. Something he sees there seems to give him strength.

"You have to fight them on your own, Dean, I can't—" Something like a tentacle made of pure darkness punches straight through the muscle of Cas's right wing, and he groans in pain, one knee buckling. "Please, Leviathan! I'm sorry! I'll be good!" Cas sobs, wings starting to fold in submission. Then he abruptly grits his teeth and stands straight again. "No! I am not yours, and neither is Dean!" A wordless wail of fury answers, and Cas starts to shake like he is being battered by invisible fists. The tentacle through his wing splits into dozens of smaller ones that cut like knives, hacking at the feathers and muscle around them and widening the hole. The pain must be unimaginable, and Cas gasps as his knees start to buckle again.

"What the hell are you doing, Cas?" Dean grabs the angel's shoulder, half to hold Cas upright and half to keep his own grip on the world, because it seems to be graying at the edges. Unsure if it will even help, he imagines that he has a knife to defend himself with, and to his relief one appears in his hand. Cas doesn't seem to notice the touch or the weapon; his eyes are blank and terrified again, and he's mumbling in a language Dean can't understand. Nevertheless, Dean hacks at the Leviathan, relieved to see that his weapon actually deals some damage. The feelers retreat, accompanied by another furious shriek, but before Dean can celebrate the knife disappears. He can't seem to make it come back. "They're gonna kill you, man! We have to get out of here!"

Dean's voice seems to spark something in Cas, and he meets Dean's gaze once more. Absurdly, the angel flashes the barest shaky smile at Dean. "They've taken my wings and very nearly my will, Dean. At this point I would be grateful if they took my life." Another tentacle wraps around other wing, dark ropes lashing around feather and bone, winding their way down into Cas's flesh and pulling him away from Dean. Cas claws frantically at the inky appendage, but it only splits into more of them and slashes back, leaving Cas's arm laid open to the bone.

"OoURsS," Leviathan howl, more and more half-formed arms and claws tearing at the angel. Dean clings to Cas's shredded jacket, unwilling to let him go, as he desperately tries to make another weapon appear. Cas's eyes slide in and out of focus on Dean's face, and it seems like his hold on wherever they are is slipping. The room has gone distorted and hazy, except for the growing cloud of evil blackness behind Cas that is the leviathan.

Cas is whimpering in pain and fear, but he reaches out with Dean's soul nonetheless. "Take it, Dean. They will still have some power over you, but as long as I have a mind I will not tear you apart." The words are slurred, and Dean doesn't know if it's the angel or his hearing that's doing it. "Don't let them bring you here again." Four more dark whips wrap around Cas's throat, legs, and torso, intent on dragging him into the darkness of Leviathan that surrounds them, and suddenly Cas's wings are wrenched backwards with a series of resounding cracks.

The angel screams in agony, and everything sharpens for a moment. The room clears around them, although now it's somewhere Dean's never seen before. Very white, and wide, and Dean realizes that despite the fact that he's still standing against a wall, there's no floor, only clouds. Heaven?

As suddenly as it crystallized, everything around them blurs out even further than before. Now their surroundings are completely gone; it's just Dean and Cas in an endless void. As Cas struggles to free himself, he loses his grip on both Dean and the soul. Dean grabs for the sphere with his free hand, still trying to keep his hold on Cas with the other, but his soul falls into the darkness and vanishes. Dean can't even worry about that now, because Cas is being dragged away from him, still crying out in agony as leviathan rip into his body. As Dean tries to beat them off with his bare hands, the darkness sprouts spines that dig into his skin, ripping at him the way they've been tearing at Cas.

"Dean, go!" Cas shrieks, even as something made of fangs and shadow reaches out of the mass of Leviathan and sinks its teeth into the angel's neck.

"Cas!" Dean tries to help, but with one final effort Cas pushes him away and vanishes into the darkness. Dean has the impression that he is traveling very far very quickly, and just before he blacks out he hears the distant, outraged shriek of the leviathan. His last thought is of Cas.

Dean wakes up screaming. Someone is holding his hand, and he jerks away from the touch.

"Dean!" He hears Sam calling but he doesn't think he can answer. He's tied to the cot again, which must mean he made it back, right? Only the cot is too much like the rack, and he needs to get  _off_. He pulls so hard on the cuffs around his wrists that one of them actually bends a little, metal creaking. The left one bends his wrist instead, and Dean cries out at the pain. The feeling of bone grinding on bone does nothing to soothe him.

"Dammit, boy, calm down!" That's Bobby, Dean thinks. Belatedly, he realizes that his eyes are still closed. "Sam, we're gonna have to sedate him again." At that, Dean instantly goes as still and silent as he can, although he's still shivering. He can't go under again. That's how Leviathan got him last time.

"Dean? Hey, can you hear me? Look at me, Dean." Sam's voice, worried, very close by. With effort, Dean calms down enough to look around. He half-expects Sam to be talking to the empty body that was lying on the bed before, but no. Sam is sitting next to the cot, which Dean is lying on again, and most definitely talking to him. It takes all Dean's willpower to stay calm and not try to get off the rack—bed—again, but there's Bobby standing over him, syringe at the ready. Leviathan are nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, Dean. Don't worry, it's just us. You're all right." Sam is soothing Dean like a little kid, and it pisses him off. When he opens his mouth to tell Sam to cut it out, though, he finds himself speaking to Bobby instead.

"Don't you dare put me under again, Bobby. Not unless you're trying to kill me." The old hunter gives Dean a long look, then caps the needle and puts it in his pocket. Dean relaxes marginally.

"If you're not gonna lose your mind again, or hurt yourself—" Bobby looks at Dean's sprained wrist, which is already swelling, and sighs. "Hurt yourself more, I guess, then I won't have to use it. And it's not gonna kill you, boy."

"Yes it will!" Dean wants to be ashamed of how childish he sounds, but he's too desperate to make Sam and Bobby understand. "You don't understand, they took me away last time."

"Took you where? Dean, what happened?" Sam looks so concerned that Dean almost feels bad, but then he remembers. Sam was there.

"They took me away, and you let them!" Bobby surreptitiously slips a hand into his pocket, and Dean concentrates on keeping his voice low and even. Gotta stay calm or they'll feed him to the leviathan again. "It was—" Dean cuts himself off. If he can't even find the right words for it, how can he expect them to understand? "It was like a dream, only more real. I thought I was awake." Hell, Dean was still pretty sure he'd been awake. "You walked into the room, Sam, right past me, and started talking to whatever was on the bed. Which I guess you thought was me, but it wasn't. And then I got sucked through this other door and ended up somewhere else." Sam and Bobby exchange a look that Dean can easily read. They think he's crazy. And it's true, he might be, but not about this. "I'm telling the truth!"

"Son," Bobby begins slowly, "We ain't calling you a liar... but you never left the room. Sam came in and tried to get you up after the sedative wore off, but you were out cold. We've been waitin' for you to wake up all day."

Dean sighs in frustration. "I know I didn't physically go anywhere, but—" Dean looks around the room, ready to point out the door made of metal and shadows, but of course it's not there. Because it wasn't real, right? Then the other part of the statement hits him. "Hang on, all  _day_?"

"Yeah, Dean. It's almost dinner time."

All Sam has to do is mention dinner, and Dean realizes how ravenous he is. His stomach lets out a tremendous growl, and he tries to curl up in a ball around the gnawing emptiness growing inside him. Forget all day; Dean feels like he hasn't eaten all week.

Before he can ask, Bobby snorts. "I'll get you food, boy. Sam, stay with him." Bobby pulls the syringe out of his pocket, glancing at Dean as the man immediately goes still and silent, and leaves it on the chair in the corner. Dean watches Bobby go until the feeling of Sam moving his injured wrist distracts him.

"Dammit, Sam. You trying to break it twice?" The thought of broken bones leads Dean to Cas's wings. The way they were the last time Dean saw them flashes behind his eyes: bent out of shape like an old umbrella, barely even attached to Cas's shoulders, and literally crawling with leviathan. Dean suddenly finds he's not hungry anymore.

"Sorry, Dean. I'm just making sure it's not broken." Dean's revulsion must not be visible on his face, or maybe Sam just doesn't notice. Like he didn't notice when Dean was gone. Carefully, Sam unlocks the cuff from Dean's wrist and lifts it, bending it this way and that. "How does it feel? It doesn't look broken." Dean shrugs mutely, and Sam carefully puts his arm down. "Probably just a sprain. I'll get you some ice." Despite his words, Sam doesn't immediately leave; he just sits there and watches Dean. "I don't want you to freak out, man, but can you tell me what you think happened?"

"It's not what I  _think_  happened, it's what happened," Dean corrects sharply, lifting his head to glare at Sam. Then he lowers it and closes his eyes. Why is he even bothering? They don't believe him. Sam's hand is suddenly on his forehead, and Dean jerks away instinctively, terrified. Sam feels cool, but only Leviathan are supposed to be cold like that.

"Didn't mean to startle you, sorry. You have a fever again." Of course. Sam's not cold; Dean is just too warm. His brother is still sitting there, and Dean wants to ask for that ice, but Sam speaks again before he can. "Tell me what happened, Dean. Please?"

Dean watches Sam for a few seconds. He can't tell if his brother really believes him, but maybe if he explains himself better… "You and Bobby drugged me, but I woke up when it wore off. I wasn't cuffed anymore, so I got up and went over to the doors."

"Wait, doors plural?" Sam interrupts. Dean glares at him.

"There was another one, but it's gone now." Bobby's back with the food, Dean realizes, but now that he's started explaining he can't seem to stop. "I went through it. Didn't want to, but I didn't have much of a choice." Bobby looks like he wants to interrupt again, but now it's Sam's turn to glare and Bobby shuts his mouth. Dean just plunges on through his shaky explanation. He does his best to keep it to the basics. To not talk about just how bad Cas looked, or how horribly excited the leviathan had been when they held Dean's soul. Sam and Bobby keep their poker faces on the whole time, and Dean can't decide whether or not he's getting through to them. When Dean is finished, Sam sits back and stares off into the distance, obviously thinking hard. Bobby silently sets down the plate of food on the cot next to Dean, who fidgets restlessly.

"Well?" he finally asks.

"I believe you, Dean." Sam still looks distracted, and Dean frowns, unsure. Before he can pressure his brother, Sam stands abruptly. "I'm going to go get you some ice for your wrist, okay? I'll be right back. And then I—there's something I want to try. It might help you and Cas. I just need to check with Bobby about if it'll work."

"What?" Dean asks, but Sam either doesn't hear or ignores him, and the next moment he's gone. Dean closes his eyes. Sam doesn't trust him, and maybe he shouldn't. Leviathan can get in Dean's head, after all; maybe Sam can't tell Dean because he's afraid it would be like telling them. Dean tries and fails to ignore how much that hurts.

"Here, Dean." Bobby frees Dean's uninjured hand, frowning when he sees the bent metal. "Stainless steel, my ass," he mutters, tossing the broken cuffs into the corner before holding out the plated sandwich. "Eat before you pass out again."

The very suggestion stirs Dean into action, and he sits up, grabs the food off the plate and starts scarfing it down. The bread is dry in his mouth, and he chokes, but Bobby's got a glass of water ready for him. Dean sucks it down, then returns to the food, polishing it off in record time.

"Damn, boy. You did get breakfast this morning, didn't you?"

"M'starving," Dean mutters, licking his lips. "Can I have another? More meat this time?" The sandwich barely puts a dent in Dean's hunger, and his stomach rumbles loudly, demanding more.

Bobby lets out a snort of laughter. "At least you've still got a healthy appetite, and I've done worse than make sandwiches for an invalid. I'll go get you another one. You gonna be okay in here by yourself for a few?"

"I'm not crazy, Bobby. I'll be fine. You could always let me go get my own sandwich, if you're so worried about me being alone." Dean's pretty sure that Bobby and Sam are going to keep him locked down on high alert, but who knows. Maybe he doesn't sound as messed up as he is. It's no good though—Bobby just shakes his head, grabs the plate, and exits. At least he doesn't bother tying Dean up again.


	6. Counting Bodies Like Sheep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so. Taking a bit of a break from Dean's POV here (eventually). Also I just love writing this one character. PS I'm literally making up things about Leviathan as I go. I don't think any of it's canon. shh.

Without Sam and Bobby to distract him, Dean's thoughts invariably return to Cas. Cas, who is hurting badly, probably dead. Because of Dean. Because Dean was scared to get hurt. Stupid. He's been broken before. He should have just let Cas do it. Then at least the angel would still have his wings.

"Dean?" As if thinking the angel's name summoned him, Cas is suddenly standing in the corner of the room, looking small and scared. Dean can't go to him because he's still chained to the cot by the ankles, but he sits bolt upright and leans towards Cas.

"Cas! You got away?"

The angel shakes his head sadly. "No, Dean. And you cAN't eIThEr." It doesn't matter that he realizes it's coming a split second before it does; the sight of Leviathan clawing their way to the surface of Cas's skin still makes Dean scream. Leviathan laugh, a terrible noise that bubbles up from deep in Cas's lacerated throat, "gOoD, dEAn. sInG FOr uS."

Dean manages to swallow his next cry out of sheer stubbornness, a need to resist their desires. Sam runs back in from the basement, ice pack in hand. "Shit, Dean! What's wrong?"

Suddenly, Dean sees their plan. Leviathan are going to drive him crazy so that Sam and Bobby have to put him under, and then they're going to do whatever they did to him before. "Nothing," he chokes out, turning his head away from the apparition. "I'm sorry, Sam." His brother doesn't believe him, Dean can tell. He's not being very convincing right now. "I'm fine," Dean insists, but he can't stop his eyes from following Leviathan as they circle around behind Sam.

"Are you seeing things again?" Dean doesn't say a word because Sam's not stupid; he knows the answer. Sam glances around, eyes sweeping right over Cas's devastated form. "There's nothing here but us, man."

"I know," Dean snaps, earning him a look from Sam. His brother settles into the chair next to the cot anyway, pressing the ice to Dean's sprained wrist. "I can do that," Dean grumbles, grabbing the ice and adjusting it so that it's more comfortable. It's easier to ignore Leviathan when Sam's here, and he focuses hard on his brother's face. Sam is what's real. "Let me off the damn bed, Sam. I'm fine."

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Dean." Sam looks exhausted, and it just adds to the guilty weight in Dean's stomach. "Especially if you're still hallucinating."

Dean's irate response dies in his throat when a trickle of black liquid seeps out of Sam's hairline, sliding past the corner of his eye and dripping off his chin to splatter on the sheets by Dean's leg.  _No,_  Dean thinks, numb with panic.  _Not my brother, not Sammy._  Alerted by Dean's silence, Sam glances up at him and blinks. Some of the goo gets caught in his eyelashes.

"Dean? Are you okay?" He glances over his shoulder as though expecting something behind him, then looks back. In the intervening seconds, the corner of Sam's mouth splits open, revealing far too many sharp teeth packed into his gums. When he talks, Dean can see them grate against each other. "What do you see, Dean? Whatever it is, it's not real."

Dean shuts his eyes tightly. It's  _not_  real. Leviathan are doing it; he has to believe that. They can't really have gotten to Sam. Ignoring Sam's startled protest, he balances the ice pack on his wrist and raises the other hand to his brother's face.

"Dean, what are you doing? You're freaking me out." Sam's mouth is moving under Dean's thumb, whole. His breath is warm on Dean's palm, and Dean knows if it was Leviathan it would be cold. Everything about them is cold.

"You're Sam," he says out loud. "Not—not them. They're not in you."

There's a moment of silence, then Sam reaches up and gently pulls his brother's hand away. "It wasn't real, Dean. You can open your eyes, I promise. It's just me." It's hard, but Dean cracks one eyelid. There's his brother, looking just like he always does. And behind him, Leviathan laugh and laugh.

"thAT wAs a CLosE OnE, DEan. wE aLMoSt tRIcKeD yOU. neXt TimE FOr SuRe."

_Get out of my head,_  Dean thinks savagely, but the creatures ignore him.

"SamMY iS sO IMpORtaNt To yOu," they muse, coming up behind where Sam is sitting. "dO yoU ReaLlY hATe tHE tHougHT Of uS HavInG hIM sO MucH?" They run a sticky hand through Sam's hair, and Dean almost starts screaming again.

"Dean, it's okay." Sam tries to reassure him, but the words don't have much effect when Dean can't look at Sam without seeing the leviathan standing over him. They grin and move their hands from the top of Sam's head to his shoulders, slim fingers framing his collarbones.

"wOUlD yoU LIke Us tO sTrANgLe HiM FOr YoU? oR pErhAPs COnsuMe hIM?" Cas's jaw drops down much farther than it should be able to, and Dean has to close his eyes. That many teeth aren't supposed to be in one mouth, not even when that mouth is suddenly most of Cas's face.

"Leave my brother alone!" Dean half-begs, and it's not until he feels Sam's hand tighten on his own that he realizes he spoke out loud.

"Dean, I'm fine. I'm right here; they're not doing anything to me. Look." Sam is insistent, so Dean blinks his eyes open, staring first at his hands before dragging his gaze up to Sam's face. Sam is watching Dean sadly, but he forces a smile as Dean makes eye contact. Leviathan have vanished again.

"You should go, Sam." Dean doesn't want to be alone, but it makes logical sense. "If you're not really here, they won't make me see things happening to you." Of course, Leviathan could probably whip up a fake Sam in a heartbeat and just use that one, but at least Dean would know it wasn't real. He hoped.

"I'm not leaving you down here alone while you're hallucinating."

"Why not?" Dean shoots back. "I did it to you." Sam looks stricken, and Dean can hear Leviathan laughing. "No, Sam, I just—I'll be fine. Go do whatever you were planning on. Find a way to gank these bastards." Dean is absurdly pleased that his words make Leviathan fall silent.

Sam watches his brother for a few more seconds before nodding slowly. "All right. We'll get you out of this, Dean, I promise. Cas too."

"I know you will," Dean replies softly, because that's what Sammy needs to be told. Sam doesn't need to hear the tiny voice in the back of Dean's mind that keeps telling him Cas is dead, and Dean will be soon.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam stands, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "If you're hallucinating… should we tie you back down?" Dean bites down on his initial angry response and really considers the question.

"Probably," he mutters. "But I'm pretty done with being tied down. Besides, what would you do about this?" Dean shrugs his shoulder and winces when the motion jars his wrist.

"Um. We could leave it free?" Sam suggests, but Dean just shakes his head.

"Then you might as well just uncuff me entirely, cause you know I'd get out of them one way or another. Look, I'll be okay. Seriously. Bobby's coming back in a minute with more food anyway. Let me move around a bit."

The nervous expression stays on Sam's face, but he does get the key and let Dean's legs free. Immediately, Dean draws them up to his chest and sits hunched over, reveling in the simple ability to curl up and cover himself. They don't give you much mobility in Hell.

"You okay?" Sam sounds worried, again.

"Just enjoying the fetal position," Dean mumbles, words muffled because he's talking into his knees. "Go away, Sam. Trust me, I'll yell if something happens."

His brother rests a hand briefly on Dean's bowed back, a gesture that was probably supposed to be comforting. Then, mercifully, he leaves. Dean can hear him meet Bobby in the hall and exchange a few words, and then there's the creak of the basement stairs protesting as Sam goes back up.

Dean briefly considers making an attempt at normal interaction with Bobby, but it's too much effort. The old hunter doesn't seem inclined to make conversation anyway. Dean peeks out at him long enough to watch him set the plate of food down at the foot of the cot, along with a bottle of water. "It'll turn out all right, boy. Sam's got a plan," is all Bobby says before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

 

"This is a terrible plan." Sam ignores Bobby's warning, just like he ignored it the last five times Bobby said it. He checks the ingredients in the bowl one more time, lights the candles, then takes a hasty sip of water to clear his throat. No whiskey; he wants to be stone cold sober for this one.

"We don't have any other options, Bobby. Help me or leave me alone."

Bobby sighs heavily, but doesn't say anything else, just goes over to the doorway and crosses his arms. Taking this for assent, Sam starts to read the spell. When he finishes, Sam's afraid for a moment that it hasn't worked. Then, as if he'd always been there but Sam only just noticed him, there is a man standing in the middle of the room. His pale, spidery fingers are clasped around the head of a silver-tipped black cane, which he is tapping ominously against the floor. Ghostly silver manacles encircle his bony wrists, and Sam takes a moment to pray to whoever is listening that this situation doesn't end the way it did last time. Dark grey eyes fix on Sam's face, and the man speaks in a voice as dry as dead leaves.

"What an unpleasant surprise. I seem to recall telling your brother the last time this happened that I would kill him if he did it again. Must that offer extend to you as well?"

"Death," Sam greets. his throat is dry, and he suddenly wishes he'd had that whiskey after all. "I'm sorry about this. I wanted to ask for your help. I—"

The laugh Death lets out is soft but harsh, reminding Sam of sand blowing over old bones. "I know what you want. You want me to do something about your favorite angel. I decline."

"No." Sam somehow manages to keep his voice from shaking. "You were right before. We need to clean up our own messes; I get that. All I want is information. I know you were there in the beginning; you killed one of them then, after all. I just want to know how you did it. Sir," Sam adds hastily as Death continues to stare at him.

"I told you last time. The leviathan amuse me. Why should I help you kill them?"

"Why shouldn't you help us?" Sam challenges. It's amazing how little Death scares him; all he has to do is think of Dean, and Sam has the courage to speak again. "The leviathan aren't doing you any favors. You're all about the natural order, right? If those things stay up here, you know they'll mess up the—the balance of the world, or something. There's no benefit for you in protecting them from us."

"Protecting them from you? How quaint. If I actually cared one way or the other, I would say that I'm protecting you from them." Death studies Sam for a long moment. "You are a great deal more polite than your brother. This _is_  all about Dean, isn't it? You realize, there is no guarantee that killing the leviathan will help him."

Sam swallows nervously, then steels himself. Dean's soul is on the line. "But it might. That's why I called you. I need to know how to get those things out of Cas. Preferably by killing them and not him. There isn't much I can give you in return—"

"There is nothing you can give me in return, foolish boy." Death's eyes alight on the pizza box on Bobby's desk, and he smiles. The sight makes Sam shiver. "But it is adorable that you tried. Unbind me."

"Are you going to help?"

The glare Death gives Sam makes his knees go to water. "That is irrelevant, Sam. You  _will_  let me out now, because you have sorely tried my patience already. That was not a request or a bargain; it was an order."

Sam takes a deep breath, calculating. Can he trust Death not to just leave? Is it worth the risk if he forces Death to stay? After a moment, he nods, bending to blow out one of the candles on the desk. When he straightens up, Death is gone. "Dammit."

"You're lucky he just left, Sam." Bobby comes up and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry you didn't get anythin' useful, but at least we're no worse off than we were before. We'll figure out another way."

"We don't have time to figure out another way, Bobby!" Sam slams his hand down on the desk in frustration, knocking over a candle and spilling hot wax across the cluttered surface. That's when he notices the conspicuous lack of red and white cardboard. "Oh, well, at least he took the pizza."

"Calm down, Sam. Gettin' angry isn't going to help anybody." Bobby gives Sam a disapproving look as he sets the candle upright, rescuing a small, dark tome bound in leather from the path of the wax. He frowns down at the book, turning it over in his hands. "Where'd you find this one, boy?"

Sam looks at Bobby in confusion. "It's not mine." As Bobby opens the cover, a scrap of yellow paper falls to the ground. Sam picks it up and reads it out loud, puzzled. "For the pizza." He glances at Bobby, startled, and then they're both crowding in to pour over the book's contents.

 

Dean pretty much expected the leviathan to descend on him again as soon as he was alone, but the room stays as silent as the grave. For a few minutes, he just sits there, curled up in a ball, enjoying the silence and the fact that no one wants anything to do with him right now. Eventually, though, Dean remembers that he's hungry, and he uncurls enough to drag the plate over and start eating. Bobby took Dean's words to heart; this sandwich is basically just two inches of meat between slices of bread, and Dean lays into it with gusto. The food is all gone, and most of the water bottle, by the time Leviathan do choose to make another appearance.

Dean doesn't see them at first, only feels a cold hand settle on his shoulder. He's not tied down this time though, so he leaps to his feet and whirls. Levithan are standing at the side of the cot, watching Dean with their flat, blackened eyes.

"What did you do to Cas?" Dean struggles to keep his voice level as the leviathan lean their head to one side and begin to slowly approach him.

"wE PUnIsHed HiM. hE shoULd hAVe LisTEneD tO Us."

Dean circles, trying to keep them as far away as the room will allow. "If you killed him, I swear to god, I'll—"

"NoT DeAd. tHAt wOuLd Be A WAstE oF a pErFEctLy gOoD bIRDiE." They tilt their head the other way until something pops. "We cAN LeT yOU SEe hIm, iF YOu WaNT."

Dean snorts with false bravado, to cover how much he does want to see Cas. "You think I'd believe anything you show me? It's all hallucinations anyway. None of it's real." Being able to move is helping him focus, keeping him calm. He'll have to point that out to Sam and Bobby next time they want to strap him down.

"aRe YOu sUrE iT's AlL In yOuR HEad, DeaN?" They ghost towards him, suddenly way too close, and before Dean can escape they have him by the wrist, his injured one, and are squeezing lightly. The pain is very real, and Dean hisses softly. "dOEs ThaT  _fEeL_  lIKe iT's iN YoUr hEAd?"

"Actually, yeah." Dean grates, unwilling to give them the satisfaction, or perhaps the provocation, of pulling away. "I've been pounded into the ground loads of times in my dreams."

"tHAt iS TRue…" Leviathan think for a moment, still squeezing Dean's arm, giving him time to freak out about the fact that they apparently know what he dreams about. "hoW tO cONvinCe YOu oF oUR siNcErITy?" they muse, before suddenly dropping his arm. Dean can't help but gasp a little from the diminished pain and pressure on the sprain.

He doesn't get much relief though, because the next thing Leviathan do is wrap their hand around his shoulder in a sick mockery of Cas's grip. Dean lost the bandage at some point, and the touch of their skin against the ruined scar sends a shock through his entire body. It feels like he's got an I.V. of ice water pumping into him from his shoulder, and it hurts. He's paralyzed though, locked knees the only thing keeping him upright as the monsters continue whatever the hell they're doing.

"Sam," he whispers, because it's all he can manage. Sending his brother out of the room was a really bad plan, and Dean wants someone there now to slap his face and tell him it's not real. "Sam!" he tries again, louder. Leviathan are making no move to stop him; Dean's not even sure they realize he's talking. Whatever trick they're trying to pull, it seems to take a lot of concentration.

"Dean? Were you calling?" Dean turns his head to look at Sam as he flings the door open, unable to do more with Leviathan holding him down. His brother spots him immediately and hurries over, concern prominent on his face. "I'm here, Dean, what's wrong?"

"Leviathan. They're not real, right?" Even as Dean is talking, the creatures drop him and back away, making room for Sam to come inspect Dean.

"No, Dean. You're all right, they can't get you in here. Come on, sit back down." Sam takes him by the shoulder—not the left one, thank god, or Dean might have lost it right then—and guides him down onto the edge of the bed.

"yOU cAn tHAnK uS laTeR, DeaN," Leviathan purr, and then they vanish again. Dean just sits there, taking deep breaths to try and shake off the fear that creeps into him whenever they're around. Sam's watching him, waiting for Dean to say something.

"Sorry. They, uh," Dean coughs nervously. "They were just here. Way too close for comfort. I was hoping they'd leave if you showed up, and they did."

"What were they doing?"

"Being damn creepy," Dean mutters, rubbing his shoulder. "Kept trying to convince me they were weren't just a hallucination or whatever. Grabbed my wrist and it hurt like a bitch." Dean runs gentle fingers over the injury experimentally, trying to prove to himself that the leviathan didn't damage it any further.

"It was just your mind playing tricks on you, Dean." Sam is obviously trying to be comforting, but Dean ignores him because his wrist… doesn't hurt. Leviathan hadn't damaged it further; they healed it. In disbelief, Dean bends his hand backwards and forwards, feeling the joint move easily. The swelling is gone, and there's not even a hint of redness to show where the inflamed sprain had been earlier.

"Sam, feel my wrist."

"Wha—" Dean doesn't wait for his brother to protest, shoving his left arm at Sam until the hunter is forced to grab it or let Dean hit him in the face. Sam winces on Dean's behalf, then frowns. "This… was sprained?" he asks, as though he thinks Dean has an explanation.

"It was, Sam.  _Was_. They fixed it; that's what they were doing. How the  _hell_  can a hallucination fix my wrist, Sam?" Dean is hyperventilating again and trying hard not to think about what just happened. Because if the leviathan can physically influence his body while he's awake, locked in a room designed to keep out every speck of the supernatural…

"Dean, calm down!" Sam's words filter through the panic, and Dean tries to pay attention to them. "It's not the end of the world, all right? We'll figure this out."

"Figure this out? Sam, they're  _in me_. There's no other explanation. You've gotta tie me down, or knock me out, or shoot me, or _something_ , cause—"

"Stop it!" Sam's intensity takes Dean by surprise, and he swallows his hysteria. "Listen, Bobby and I have a lead. We're researching it. But you've gotta stay in control, okay?"

Dean takes a deep breath, then another. In control. Right. He can do that. "Well at least now you can cuff me again. Do it, Sam," Dean orders, when his brother looks like he wants to protest. "I'm asking you to, please." Dean wouldn't be able to handle it if something happened to Sam or Bobby because of him. He really is a time bomb; if Leviathan can fix his body from afar, what else can they do with it? Sam doesn't want to, Dean can tell, but he still gets the cuffs and straps Dean down again, and that's what matters.

"We're gonna fix this, Dean, I promise."

Dean turns his head and manages to smile at Sam, giving his brother the comfort that Dean can't feel. "I know, Sammy." Dean watches Sam leave, then leans back his head and stares at the ceiling. The swirl of the fan is hypnotic, and before Dean can stop himself he's drifting off to sleep.


	7. Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *punches canonical soul theory in the face* it’s my fanfic and I’ll do what I want to!!

“Any progress, Bobby?”  

The old hunter looks up in irritation as Sam strides back into the room.  “I’m trying to read ancient Hebrew that’s handwritten on equally ancient paper.  What do you think?”

“Well you’d better read faster, cause Dean’s getting worse.”  Sam collapses into the chair by Bobby’s desk and rakes his hair back from his face.  “His wrist isn’t sprained anymore.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“He says the leviathan fixed it.  And I checked; it’s not in his head.  His arm is perfectly fine.”

“Son of a bitch.”  Bobby drops the book and sits back, face drawn and pale.  

“How could they even do that?  Cas couldn’t heal people from far away, and he was a damn angel!”

“It’s something to do with his soul, Sam.  It has to be.”  Bobby frowns at the book in irritation, then glances sharply at Sam.  “You tie him back up?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.  Look, boy,”  Bobby adds when Sam glares at him.  “I’m tryin’ to help Dean just as much as you are, but we’ve got to be careful too.  We don’t know what they can do, and if Dean runs off somewhere because he’s out of his mind, or comes after one of us—”

“Dean wouldn’t do that, Bobby!”  Sam protests angrily, and the old hunter raises his hands in surrender.

“I’m not gonna argue with you, Sam.  Just… leave me alone so I can keep working on this damn translation, all right?”

“Fine.”  Sam sits in silence for a few minutes, until his fidgeting drives Bobby over the edge and the older man banishes him from the living room.  He paces the house for a while before going back into the basement and looking in on Dean.  His brother is sleeping, looking peaceful for once, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief.  Part of his mind reminds him that Dean didn’t want to sleep, but Sam ignores it.  He’s not drugged or anything, and Dean really does need the rest.  Maybe it will help him tighten his shaky grasp on reality.  Or maybe it will just make him worse. Come to think of it, Sam could probably do with some rest himself. Parts of the room keep wavering and fading to the horribly familiar walls of Lucifer’s cage for a few seconds before turning back into Bobby’s basement.

“Sam?”  Bobby’s voice filters down the stairs, interrupting his brooding.  “I think I might have somethin’.  Come up here a minute.”  Hastily, Sam ascends, praying that whatever Bobby’s found isn’t a dead end.

 

Dean’s nightmares get worse the longer he sleeps, but he can’t wake up.  Invisible teeth tear into him while inhuman voices chant over him in a language that hurts his ears.  He is trapped somewhere small, cold, and dark, drowning in blood and black ooze, but the walls are soft and pliant when he strikes out at them, bending but never breaking.  He can’t get free.  

Abruptly his prison convulses, spilling him onto a hard, smooth surface.  As he scrambles to his feet he realizes that there’s faint light now, radiating from somewhere he can’t find.  It’s enough for Dean to see the nothingness around him; hard, featureless ground merging into blank, uniform sky, and all of it a strange non-color that he can’t find words for.  The void is not entirely consistent though; the floor curves downwards off to his right and rises to his left.  Tentatively, every sense pricked for the return of Leviathan or some new terror, Dean follows the slope down.

At the bottom of the basin there is a small table with two chairs placed opposite each other.  Guided by some inner prompting, Dean approaches cautiously and takes one.  Although he scrapes it across the floor, there is no sound.  Dean realizes then that there is no sound anywhere, not even a rush of air as he sucks in another nervous breath.  

Some part of Dean is on red alert, telling him to stand up and run away, back up the slope and on and on until he’s as high up as he can go.  Most of him is full of a cool complacency that leeches the strength from his legs, and he just sits there.  When he glances over his shoulder, the slope has grown steeper behind him, so that if he tried to leave he would need to climb an almost vertical cliff with no hand or footholds. Alarm prickles in the back of his mind, but all he does is turn his head to face front again and wait for the other chair to be filled.  

“iT ToOk a gREaT dEaL oF EFfoRt tO bRIng YoU heRE, DeAn.”  Leviathan, looking more at home in Cas’s body than ever, approach the other side of the table.  Dean watches calmly as the monsters pull out the other chair and sit, planting their elbows on the table and resting their chin on laced fingers to observe him.  

“Where are we?”  Dean is surprised that he can speak, but the words are there, and just as calm as his body.  

“YouR cENteR,”  Leviathan purr, still examining Dean like scientists observing a new experiment.  A tremor runs through him, and he remembers Cas’s words.  Don’t let them bring you here again.  He turns again to gauge the mountain behind him, the urge to run almost strong enough to get him to his feet.  But something cold and rubbery wraps around his waist, securing him to the chair, and he turns to see Leviathan still watching, their eyes narrowed in irritation now.  Dean knows that if he were to look at their legs, Leviathan wouldn’t look like Cas anymore, but the thick, dark tentacle snaking from under the table and holding him down convinces him that he doesn’t need to see that.  His thoughts are sluggish, all his alarm drowning in whatever impulse made him sit here in the first place.  He shakes his head slowly, trying to clear it, and Leviathan’s face darkens further.

“yOU cAN’t LEaVe, dEAn.  yOu DOn’t wANt To, aNd wE wOUlDn’t lET  YoU iF YOu dID.”  Their words settle on Dean’s limbs like chains, and Dean nods dumbly, no longer trying to run.  There is no escape, he knows that. And besides, this is where he needs to be.  He relaxes further into the chair, although a tear that he had no intention of crying slides down his cheek.  Leviathan reach across the table and wipe it off his cheek with a small smirk.

“dOn’T CRy, hUnTEr;  wE hAVe gOoD NEws. wE’Ve dIGesTEd EnoUgH oF THe bIRdiE To  kNoW What tO Do wItH YOu.”  That sentence sends a spike of horror through Dean, and he starts shaking his head again.  The limb around his stomach tightens warningly, and against his better judgement he reaches down to try and pull it off.

“sTOp It,” Leviathan order, taking his face in their hands.  “STop fIgHTinG uS.”  Distractedly, Dean realizes that the table has vanished, along with Leviathan’s chair.  Cas’s coat is hanging shut as they stand and lean towards him,  hiding them from view except for the few long tentacles wavering around Dean.  For a moment he thinks of Ursula from the Little Mermaid, and it makes him giggle nervously.  They bend down and press a cold kiss to his cheek, and he lets his hands fall to his side.  He’s so tired, and something deep inside him aches.  Still, pain is better than nothing.

“ArE yOu REadY, dEAn?” they purr, and Dean blinks slowly at them, wanting to question them but too weary to speak.  They seem to sense his confusion though, because they smile down at him reassuringly.  The sight of their many, many teeth doesn’t even bother Dean.  “iT wiLl AlL Be OvER soOn,”  Leviathan promise, reaching inside Cas’s jacket to withdraw a familiar ball of light. They hold his soul in front of them, inches from Dean’s face, and let him look at it.  He shifts, wondering if he should lean forward and touch it, but Leviathan press him back with their dark tentacles and so he just waits.

“GoOD.”  With their other hand, Leviathan reach up and pluck something from between their teeth.  It’s dark and wispy, a spider web made of charcoal threads, and the sight of it would make Dean shift uncomfortably if he wasn’t so lethargic.  “a BIt oF RUinEd GraCE fROm ThE bIRdiE.”  Leviathan seem to be enjoying dragging this out, and they hold the thing out for Dean to inspect.  It feels evil, and he turns his face away from it, making the monsters chuckle.  “dON’t YoU lIkE It, DEan?”

Without waiting for an answer that Dean is incapable of giving, they wrap the dead-looking shroud around his soul tightly and carefully, then let it go.  The orb hovers in front of Dean, glowing interior flaring brightly against the grey web it’s trapped within.  Dean shudders as he feels the pain inside sharpening into something terrifying.  Despite his exhaustion, despite the cloudiness in his mind that keeps telling him that it’s good for him to be here, he starts to claw at the limbs holding him down, one hand reaching for his soul. Leviathan circle to his side and catch his hands in theirs.  The little strength that Dean’s found isn’t nearly enough to fight them off.

His soul is sparking now; something in it trying to fight the corrosion, and Dean remembers Leviathan telling him how Cas used his own Grace to stitch him up after Hell.  For a moment it looks like the pure Grace inside his soul is winning, but then the light starts to flicker and fade, and Dean whines under his breath as his thoughts start to slip sideways.  The agony is huge and staggering, breaking him, remind him of Hell.  Even as the thought crosses his mind, Dean remembers the Leviathan’s plan for him, to break his soul back open. Apparently, they found out how to do it without Cas’ compliance.

The corrupted Grace is chewing through Dean’s soul, and he can barely see anymore.  All of his thoughts are jumbled together, and he doesn’t remember where he is.  Hell? No, Cas saved him. But leviathan were going to put him back.  No, they can’t do that.  Or can they? Cas could, and they have Cas, and maybe they’d broken him after all, and—  

Dean’s thoughts lose their last shred of coherency as the last of Castiel’s Grace is consumed and his soul falls to pieces again.  Everything hurts; his body, his mind, and especially his soul.  It doesn’t matter if he’s really in Hell again, although he thinks he is.  It feels like Hell, as though he had never left, as though he were still pinned to the rack, right where Alistair wanted him.  It’s been minutes. It’s been years. Cas will save him like before. No one is ever going to save him.  Dean’s going to break again. He’s already broken.  He just needs the pain to stop.

Anything. Anything for the pain to stop.  Alistair is dead.  No, he isn’t, and in a moment he’s going to come ask Dean to get off the rack and Dean is going to say yes because he can’t take it anymore.  

“We’rE gOInG tO mAKe YoU iNtO a NEw CReaTurE DEan.”  The words may as well be Alistairs, but the voice isn’t.  Alistair is dead.  Alistair is very much alive and he’s going to make Dean an offer any moment now.  Dean’s going to say yes.  “dO YoU aCcEPt oUR hELp, dEAn? COnseNt iS vITal.”  

Dean’s nodding before the voice stops.  It’s not Alistair, but their words sound like an offer, and after thirty years, Dean will say anything.  Anything to be free even if he damns himself.  “Yes.” Dean thinks he heard someone scream his name just before he spoke, but it doesn’t matter.  He said it.  It’s over.

“goOd.”

Something wraps around his body, through his mind, into his soul, something cold and sticky that chokes Dean and numbs the pain away, numbs his mind until there’s nothing left but the constant loop of make it stop, make it stop, make it stop that’s been playing in his head for thirty seconds or thirty years, or just for too damn long.  Then that fades too and he’s totally empty, waiting for something to tell him who he is.  Leviathan whisper in his ear and their words are the only thing left to him, so he drinks them down like poison.

 

“Kilbit?”

“That's what it says.  It’s apparently a kind of vampire fish that attaches to the gills of a bigger fish and kills it.” Bobby sits back from his neatly scribbled notes, weariness written across his face.  “And according to this, it’s the only thing Leviathan are afraid of.”

“Afraid of?”  Sam scrubs a hand over his face.  “‘Afraid of’ is a lot different than ‘vulnerable to’, Bobby.”

“It’s all we’ve got, though.  You just stay up here and help me figure out what it is and where we can get it, all right?”

“Yeah, okay.”  Sam rubs his face again, doing his best to ignore the way the room is changing around him, like all the colors are washing out into reds and blacks.  He’ll be fine, he tells himself; it’s almost like when he used to get Azazel’s visions, after all, except now he’s seeing the past instead of the future.  Sam can handle it until there’s time to actually deal with the hallucinations.  It’s not like they’re getting worse or anything.

“Sam…”

He jerks his head up, blinking.  “What? Sorry, Bobby, I was just thinking.”

“I didn’t say anything, boy.”  The old hunter squints at Sam in concern.  “You feeling okay?”

Sam feels his face freeze for a moment before he forces it into a tightly reassuring  smile.“Yeah, just.  I’m tired.  I’m gonna go down to wake Dean up and check on him, then I’ll come help you research.”  Sam hurries out of the room before Bobby can ask any more questions.

“Sam?”

Now that he’s paying attention, he knows the voice isn’t Bobby’s anyway.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Like the bloody wallpaper that isn’t really peeling off the walls around him, Sam pushes the voice out of his awareness, focusing on taking deep breaths.  He’s fine. He’s out of the Cage, and the only other people in the house are Dean and Bobby.  He knows what’s real and what isn’t.

“Oh, Sam.  I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

 

 


	8. I'll Be The One to Protect You—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for NOTHING! (except how long it’s taken me to update… I’ve never had someone actively find me on tumblr to ask for updates….. so that was one heck of a guilt trip…..)

Sam makes it halfway down the basement steps before shakily lowering himself to sit on one of them.  Resting his head in his hands, he focuses on his breathing, trying to ground himself.

“Aww, come on, Sam, talk to me.”

Sam ignores the words, trying to remember the deep breathing exercises that he’d looked up online.   _Deep inhale for four counts, then hold for seven._

“Seriously?”

 _Exhale for a count of eight, then repeat._ After two repetitions, the voice falls silent.  After another three, Sam feels calm enough to open his eyes and look around.  Lucifer is sitting on the step next to him, knees drawn up to his chin, watching Sam curiously.

“Does that sort of thing usually work for you?”

With a silent snarl, Sam turns away, digging his thumb into the mostly healed scar on his other palm.  

In the corner of his eye, Lucifer stands with a shrug.  “You’d think that you’d want to talk to me, since I’m the only one around here who doesn’t think you’re insane.  I just think you’re in denial.”

Sam presses harder on the scar, and Lucifer flickers like a bad television image.

“Hey, easy!  I don’t know what the big deal is; you can’t send me away forever.  Pain’s not exactly the best method for keeping Hell out.”

One of the few remaining stitches tears and Sam gasps at the pain, but it’s worth it because the hallucination finally vanishes.  He sits there for a few more minutes, absentmindedly wiping up the bleeding cut with a paper towel he grabbed off the shelf next to the stairs and convincing himself that he’s all right.  A creak from the floorboards above Sam reminds him that Bobby’s expecting him to come back after he wakes up Dean, so he’d better hurry it up if he doesn’t want the old hunter to check up on him.  Sam’s legs are almost steady as he descends the last few steps and heads for the panic room.

“Dean?”  he calls, but there’s no response.  Probably not awake yet, then.  When he peers into the room, Dean’s lying exactly where Sam had left him, cuffed to the bed, head lolling to one side in sleep.  The angle is wrong for Sam to see Cas’s mark from here, but he realizes that they probably should have bandaged it up again.  He backtracks to one of Bobby’s shelves to grab the first aid kit, then comes back and knocks on the door loudly.  

“Dean?  It’s Sam.  Time to wake up.”  His brother doesn’t even stir, and a prickle of foreboding sweeps through Sam.  Dean hadn’t wanted to fall asleep.  He swings open the door and takes a cautious step into the room, glancing around even though he knows there’s nothing there.  The fan in the ceiling has stalled, shrouding half of Dean’s face in shadow, and the air is so still that the sound of Sam’s breathing practically echoes around the room.  As Sam gets closer, he realizes that he can’t see the rise and fall of Dean’s chest.  Throwing caution to the wind, he rushes to the bedside and grabs Dean’s shoulder, shaking him.

“Hey, Dean! wake up!”

Dean’s eyes snap open instantly, just as Sam notices that the blackened handprint scar is completely gone from Dean’s shoulder.  Not just scabbed over, but vanished as though it had never been there. At the same time, he registers that Dean’s skin under his hands is far too cool to the touch, even though the room itself is almost uncomfortably warm.  Most horrifying, though, are Dean’s eyes.  One is the usual green, although the pupil is so dilated that the color is just a thin ring around the outside.  The other looks as though someone had spilled ink across it, with most of the white and part of the iris drowned in darkness. Both are full of malice and fixed on Sam without even a hint of recognition. Sam stumbles back, gaping.  Dean turns his head to follow the movement with his eyes, but makes no move other than flexing his fingers slowly.  The black creeps slowly across his cornea, but Dean doesn't seem to notice.

“Dean?”  Sam asks hoarsely.  Without looking away from his brother he grabs his injured hand again and viciously jabs his thumb into the tender wound, hissing slightly at the pain.  Nothing happens except that Dean cocks his head, eyes glittering with an alien interest.  Not a hallucination, then. But it _has_ to be a hallucination.  Dean’s only been on his own down here for an hour at the most.  That’s not long enough for anything to have happened to him, is it?  

 _Screw it,_  Sam thinks, and turns to yell for Bobby.  He gets half a word out before there’s a rasping screech of bending metal and Dean is right behind him, broken cuffs dangling from his limbs.  Without a sound, before Sam can even register what’s happening, Dean has one hand over his mouth and the other around his neck  and is dragging Sam back from the door.  

Sam struggles, but any physical advantage he might once have had over Dean is gone.  His brother easily restrains him, knocking Sam’s legs out from under him and forcing him to the floor.  There are black patches dancing in the corners of Sam’s vision now as Dean keeps pressure on his windpipe, and he’s still desperately hoping this isn’t real, that he’s still sitting on the basement steps and in a moment Bobby’s going to come and snap him out of this nightmare.  Then Dean shifts forward so that he’s perched on Sam’s back like a vulture, crushing him into the concrete.   _This is real_ , Sam’s body is shrieking, but his mind is numb.  Belatedly, he realizes that his brother’s hand is no longer covering his mouth, but he can’t draw in enough air to call for help again.

"Dean," he manages to croak, and his brother's grip loosens a touch.  Enough that unconsciousness is no longer looming, at least.  "What are you doing?"

“Wrong.  I have no name.”  The response stalls Sam’s frantic attempts to escape, and he almost goes limp in shock.  Before he can even begin to come up with an answer, his brother speaks again.  “I’m the First.”

“The what?” Sam wheezes, overly conscious of Dean’s hand restricting his air flow.  

“The First. That’s what They told me.”

“What—”  Sam begins, but then Dean leans forward and sinks inhumanly sharp teeth into Sam’s shoulder like a fucking vampire and Sam finds out that he does have the breath to scream after all.  Dean’s hand clamps back over his mouth and nose, cutting off the sound and the air, but Sam thinks Bobby might have heard him this time.  He has to have heard him.  With a sickening wrench, Dean tears his teeth out of Sam's shoulder, spraying blood across the floor, and Sam howls into Dean's palm.

"Shh," Dean admonishes.  “You’re too noisy.”  He cocks his head, as though listening to someone, but Sam can’t hear a thing.  “You’re right.  I could do that.” The hand not on Sam’s mouth, creeps back to Sam’s throat, and Sam bucks wildly, trying to throw Dean off of him.  It’s like fighting a steel trap, like there are a dozen people holding him down instead of just Dean.  Sam feels a disconnected sense of relief as he starts to black out again. Maybe when he wakes up it’ll all have been a dream.

"What the hell—" Whatever Bobby sees when he enters the room must be pretty bad, because there's no hesitation before Sam hears the sound of a shotgun going off point blank. Dean jerks away from Sam like a dislodged tick, and Sam takes a deep, desperate breath, coughing slightly.  Sam hears the shotgun rack and fire again, and then Bobby’s voice.  

"Sam?"  The man sounds as frantic and confused as Sam feels, which doesn’t make him feel any better.  “What was that?”

“I don’t know!” Sam pants, scrambling to his feet.  “Shit.  I don’t—is this real?”

The look Bobby gives him promises a conversation later, but the old hunter is quick to answer.  “Yes, Sam.  I’m real, you’re real, and whatever was wrong with Dean was very real.”

Sam knows he should believe Bobby, but if he does then he’s going to have to accept the fact that his brother just tore into his shoulder like a hamburger, and he’s not quite ready for that.

“Is he…?”  Sam turns to look at his brother’s body, still feeling strangely lightheaded and far calmer than the situation dictates.  Briefly he realizes that he’s probably going into shock, but that’s not important now.  Dean is crumpled in a heap on the floor by the cot, blood dribbling onto the floor from multiple holes in his torso.  Sam takes a step forward, reeling, barely noticing how Bobby grabs his arm to stop him.  Not like this.  Dean can’t just be _gone_ like this.

He isn't.  To Sam's horror, Dean shudders and straightens up, a soft, displeased hiss escaping his lips.  The ragged holes in his torso are bleeding a disquieting combination of red blood and black ooze, and he's staring straight into Sam's face.

“Ouch.  That wasn’t nice.”  He stands carefully, and there’s a rattle as the two rounds of buckshot Bobby hit him with spill slowly from his healing wounds.  “But there’s no harm done, see?”  Dean smiles, and Sam takes an involuntary step back at the sight of the rows of teeth, far from human, that now line his brother’s mouth.  The room seems to darken for a moment, and Sam belatedly claps a hand to the bite on his shoulder, feeling the warm blood spilling down his arm.  Lots of blood.  If it is a hallucination, it’s the most intense he’s had since the warehouse.

“Dammit, Dean, what’s wrong with you?”  Bobby’s reloaded the shotgun while Sam could only stare, and now he holds it steady and pointed straight at Dean.  "What did they do to you?"

Dean ignores the question, running his hands across his body in apparent delight. "Look at that," he mutters to himself.  "Neat. Thanks!" Once again he addresses someone Sam can't see, although he has a pretty good idea who—or rather, what—Dean is talking to.

"Bobby," Sam murmurs, trying not to attract Dean's attention. "We should..." Dean looks up at Sam and very pointedly licks his lips, still smiling, and Sam trails off.  He’s not sure what he was going to say; saying anything would be acknowledging that this is happening.  Bobby glances at Sam too, and his scowl deepens.

"Get out," Bobby orders softly, not taking his eyes off Dean. "I'll cover you." Sam doesn't need to be told twice, backing towards the door as fast as he can without jolting his shoulder too badly or turning his back on Dean. He won't make that mistake again, Bobby or no.

"No, come on, stay," Dean says in a soft, cajoling tone. "I'm still hungry. You wouldn't let me starve, would you?"

Sam's heels bump the rim of the doorway, and he steps through without breaking his stare. Dean's whole left eye is solid black now, like a demon. Sam kind of wishes it was a demon; he knows how to deal with those, at least.

"If you're still in there somewhere, Dean, we're gonna fix this, I promise. We'll get Cas back too." His brother doesn't show any reaction to Sam’s words, but he does frown as Bobby starts to retreat too.

"I said, I'm _hungry_." On the last word, Dean leaps at them, but Bobby is ready for it. This time, Dean takes the first shot in the throat and the second over his heart in quick succession. He falls back, clutching at the wounds as more blood and black goo sprays everywhere, but no sound passes his lips.

"Move, dammit!" Bobby elbows Sam in the stomach, breaking his paralyzation,  and he stumbles out of the way, giving Bobby room to step out and slam the door behind them, securing the locks with practiced ease. A moment later there's a thump as Dean throws himself at the door from the other side.

"You can't keep me here, you know," he growls. A few fingers poke through the peephole, searching, but are snatched back quickly as Bobby curses and slides it shut. "They'll come for me." The words are muffled now, but no less menacing.

Neither Bobby nor Sam answers, both watching the door apprehensively as it shakes slightly with each slam of Dean's body. The iron holds firm, though, and after a minute Dean stops trying to break through. There are a few bangs and curses, like he's tossing the meager furniture in the room, and then silence. Sam opens the tiny window a crack and peeks through to see Dean curled up on the bed, arms wrapped over his head in a surprisingly vulnerable position.

"Come with me, Sam. Now." Bobby grabs Sam by his uninjured arm and drags him away. "Where's the spare first aid kit?"

"In the panic room," Sam murmurs. "I was going to see if Dean needed another bandage." He's still in shock, refusing to accept what just happened as reality. He's never hallucinated this vividly for this long before, but it's possible isn't it?

"Damn. I've got another upstairs though. Here we go." Bobby guides Sam up the steps, half dragging him. Sam brings his fingers back to the messy wound on his shoulder and probes it, searching for the pain that might end this nightmare. His knees almost buckle when he and Bobby reach the top step, and the hunter gives him a concerned look that quickly grows alarmed.

"Get your fingers out of there, Sam, you're making it worse!" Bobby pushes his hand away, and the sudden relief makes Sam lightheaded. Although that could also be the blood loss.   "Damn fool Winchesters can't take turns losing their minds," Bobby mutters. "Have to do it together and try to drag me down with them. You," he snaps at Sam, "sit here, all right? Don't move, and don't touch your shoulder, got it?" He pushes Sam into one of the kitchen chairs and Sam sits willingly, still not quite sure what's real.

As Bobby hurries away, it occurs to Sam that the pain from a wound he's hallucinating might not be enough to shake him out of it. Carefully, he presses his thumb into the cut on his palm where he burst a stitch earlier. It hurts like a bitch, but it's the same hurt as his shoulder. Nothing wavers or fades. He still feels the bruises Dean's fingers left on his throat every time he swallows. His shirt is still cold and tacky where drying blood is sticking it to his shoulder.

It's not a dream.


End file.
